


move me (if you want to)

by theundiagnosable



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: F/M, Rule 63, ah the self-centredness and constant inner turmoil of youth, vaguely alternate timeline ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 11:51:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15948782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theundiagnosable/pseuds/theundiagnosable
Summary: They get matching bracelets to celebrate the start of the season, the most expensive ones the store has, because they’re ballers. It’s not, like,actuallyfriendship bracelets, technically, but not super far off, either.Matty looks real skeptical about it. She’s good at pretending to be skeptical about most of Mitch’s ideas, even though this one was hers, mostly. Matts is kind of a sap, when no one else is watching, is what Mitch has learned these last couple years.





	move me (if you want to)

**Author's Note:**

> \- disclaimer thingy: man i’m like. the most critical of the vague icky-ness of making gay ships into m/f in fic and even generally rule63 isn’t always my thing because it can often be super binary, but there’s been so much lovely girl mitch/guy auston and girl mitch/girl auston recently but no girl aus/guy mitch?? which probably says something about fandom and gender roles and whatever, but i wanted to explore how it would work with their typical fic dynamic??? and it turned into an ode to every well meaning but clueless early 20s bro i’ve ever met???  
> \- tldr; character experiment got out of hand, hopefully someone enjoys it

Matty’s still taller than Mitch when they get back from summer, but only by half an inch, so Mitch will take the W, or like, the almost-W.

They get matching bracelets to celebrate the start of the season, the most expensive ones the store has, because they’re ballers. It’s not, like, _actually_ friendship bracelets, technically, but not super far off, either.

Matty looks real skeptical about it. She’s good at pretending to be skeptical about most of Mitch’s ideas, even though this one was hers, mostly. Matts is kind of a sap when no one else is watching, is what Mitch has learned these last couple years.

“This is the shit that girls did in elementary school,” she says, like that’s a bad thing, once they’re back at her place. Her suitcases are still in the front hall, unopened.

“You’re a girl,” Mitch points out, biting his tongue as he focuses on doing up the little latch at Matty’s wrist.

“Not the kind of girl who did this,” Matty says, pulling a face.

“Who had a best friend or who wore jewelry about it?”

Matty shrugs, which means both. Mitch looks down at his own bracelet, still in the box.

It _was_ mostly Matts’ idea.

“We can like, not,” Mitch says, because he’s not insecure, obviously, but he just- probably best to be clear, here. “You can just wear yours.”

Auston rolls her eyes, grabs Mitch’s wrist, and takes his bracelet from its box. “Shut up, maybe,” she suggests, and Mitch can’t help but smile as he watches her attach it around his wrist. His heart feels really warm, like when he visits home and his dog gets all excited to see him, or when he gets a text from one of the London guys checking up on him.

“There,” Matty says, and pats Mitch’s head, all condescending, because heartwarming shit aside, she’s still allergic to emotions and also a real dick, on occasion.

“I’m still gonna catch up,” Mitch informs her, very dignified. “My family grows late.”

“Right,” Matty says, kind of teasing. “So like, decades, or centuries, or-”

“You _suck_ ,” Mitch says, vehement, but he can’t hold back a reluctant smile. “Get the fuck out of my city, Matthews.”

Matty grins, already getting up to go grab the controllers from where they’re sitting on top of the PS4. Everything’s really chill, the two of them reunited after a summer apart, and Mitch is really psyched about it, like, genuinely, except-

Matty doesn’t bring up the kissing thing, and Mitch really thought she would. It seems like the kind of thing that _should_ be brought up, because it’s been every single one of Mitch’s notifications all summer, and that one gif has been sent to the groupchat more times than he can even count, and Mitch isn’t trying to be pushy, here, but he doesn’t think it’d be too much to just drop it into the conversation.

He almost does. Just chill, like, _hey, remember that time you kissed me at a game and it broke hockey twitter so I had to delete the app and we never mentioned it again, what’s up with that_ , because knowing what’s up with that – if it was a spur of the moment thing, or a feelings thing, or if it’s something that’s going to happen again – would be cool, probably.

Matty doesn’t bring it up, so neither does Mitch. The nearest they get to actually talking about it is when they’ve played enough rounds of Fortnite that they can’t justify procrastinating anymore, and Mitch is chilling on Matty’s bed while she puts away all her clothes.

“Bras are kind of like jock straps for boobs, eh?” he says, because the thought’s been milling around in his brain and he thinks it’s a pretty astute observation.

Matty flings a sneaker at him. “I can’t believe the internet thinks I’m in love with someone this dumb,” she says, and it lands lightyears away from the casual chirp Mitch thinks she was going for, and he’s pretty sure that Matty knows that, because she grimaces.

“Jeez, didn’t think you’d be the one to bring up how bad you want to make out with my face,” Mitch quips. Lightening the mood is his whole deal, pretty much.

Matty throws the other sneaker. It misses by a lot. “It was like, impulsive,” she says. Maybe mumbles. “I didn’t mean to.”

“To bring up kissing me or to actually k-”

“That one,” Auston says, short.

There’s a beat, and it nearly looks like she’s going to say something, but she doesn’t.

“Look,” Mitch says, and he doesn’t know what he’s going to say, exactly, because kissing his best friend in front of twenty thousand people and a million more on TV isn’t exactly familiar territory, but Matty interrupts him before he can continue.

“I just want stuff to be normal,” she says. “Like- I was just excited. We’re not gonna be weird, right?”

“Obviously not,” Mitch says, and his stomach kind of feels like he’s falling, which is just incredibly stupid. He wasn’t even- like, there was no expectation, here. “Duh.”

“I don’t want you to feel, like-”

“I don’t,” Mitch cuts her off, and watches her face do something complicated. It’s awkward.

Like fuck is Mitch going to let them be awkward.

He scoots over, pats the bed next to him. Matty pushes a pile of socks onto the floor so she can lie next to him. It’s still quiet, still a little bit unsettled, but Mitch reaches out and hooks his fingers with Matty’s friendship bracelet, tugs on it as much as the leather allows.

“You’re legally my BFF now,” he informs her. Totes normal. “Just by the way.”

“Didn’t know these bracelets were legally binding,” Matty deadpans. Equally normal.

“Oh, hella,” Mitch says.

“Shit,” Matty says, all drawn out, and she doesn’t even roll her eyes that hard when Mitch links their pinkies. He really missed her, aside from all the weird drama stuff. Kissing is kissing, but Matty’s his best friend, and Mitch wouldn’t fuck with that for anything.

\---

Hockey stuff basically goes how Mitch expected. The guys give him and Matts a massive amount of shit for the kiss, all ‘hey, lovebirds’ when they walk into the room, and they even have to get lectured by PR about how to address it when media people ask. Still. Like Mitch said, it’s mostly all stuff he was expecting.

He gives it his all at camp, goes to all the optional morning skates. Skypes Marty in New York and blows kisses at Jax on camera. Adds ‘American Woman’ to their car playlist because he knows it’ll make Matty laugh, and it does.

Normal stuff.

He’s still half asleep when he heads downstairs for breakfast on the road. Preseason kicks off today, and Hyms still insists on setting their alarm unfairly early, but the bright side is it means Mitch gets first dibs on the breakfast buffet, except for all the weirdos who get up even earlier than Zach.

Mitch yawns and scratches the back of his neck. He’s standing in line behind Johnny, who compensates for being extremely handsome and like, John Tavares, with a godawful habit of lingering for-fucking-ever choosing what to eat for breakfast.

Mo nudges Mitch’s back from behind him. “Sleepy there, bud?”

“So sleepy,” Mitch agrees, and he should see the punchline coming, but he doesn’t.

“Just ask Matty to carry you, next time,” Mo suggests, innocent, and J.T. is grinning up ahead in line – nope, still not used to that – and Mitch flips them both off. A guy can’t get spinny hugged one fucking time.

He chooses to be the bigger person, here, and focuses on loading fruit and ancient grains onto his plate and stirring four little things of milk into his coffee. Priorities. He’s got two games in the next three days and a rock solid buff as hell physique to maintain.

Mitch scrolls through his socials while he scarfs down his breakfast, liking posts and biding his time until, like clockwork, Matty slides into the seat next to his.

She’s scowling like some kind of grumpy morning gremlin, which is pretty par for the course. It’s at least slightly adorable, in Mitch’s opinion, but he also has a nagging suspicion that he only finds it adorable due to like, pre-existing best friend bias, because Matty does not look even a little like the happy cute girls doing morning makeup in commercials. TV _lied,_ man.

She steals Mitch’s coffee and chugs, like, half of it straight away. “You have toothpaste on your face,” she grumbles, because she’s basically non-functional before the caffeine kicks in.

“You have your face on your face,” Mitch retorts, without much heat behind it. He wipes at his face with the back of his hand. “Did I get it?”

Matty grunts, affirmative, and leans her head on the table.

Mitch goes back to looking at his phone; nudges his plate in Matts’ direction. He got the gross green melon that she likes, and she eats pretty much all of it straight away, then picks at the rest of his food while Mitch drinks whatever’s left of his coffee.

Patty ruffles his hair on his way past. “Morning, kiddo,” he says. “Matts.”

“I’m older than her,” Mitch calls, but Pat’s already walking away. “She’s objectively more of a kiddo than me, in case anyone cares.” No one does, predictably.

Matty’s grinning down at the table and stealing Mitch’s grapes, because this is his life now.

“You suck,” Mitch informs her, resigned.

“’Kay, kiddo,” Matty says. Which, hello, if he’s a kiddo she’s the one who kissed a kiddo in front of a billion cameras, so there.

Mitch doesn’t actually say that. Seems like a low blow, and they’re still doing the whole ‘it didn’t happen’ thing. Instead he just pulls on Matts’ hoodie strings so the hood closes around her face and she spits out the grape she was halfway through eating, startled.

“That was so fucking _gross_ ,” Mitch cackles, delighted, while Matty jabs at his stomach like she’s actively trying to make him barf up his breakfast.

“I’m requesting a fucking trade away from you,” she says between attacks, and they’re both laughing at each other, tussling there ‘til Jakey starts cooing at them from across the room so they have to declare a truce; and then they switch to planning out their suits for the game tonight – they’re going navy and purple, coordinated as fuck – and then they’re sharing headphones on the way to the rink, and-

And it’s like Mitch said. Stuff’s normal, pretty much.

\---

They start rocky, everyone still getting used to each other again, but when it eventually clicks, it clicks into beautiful fucking hockey. Mitch can hardly even breathe with how lucky he is, skating for the Leafs with literal John Tavares on his line and the crowd getting loud whenever the announcer says his name.

Like he said, beautiful fucking hockey – they crush the Habs and the Sabres, get on a really good swing to start the season, and stuff starts just as good when they take the ice for warm-ups in Boston. Mitch is just getting comfortable in his skates, settling in and playing with the puck and kind of absently looking around the ice, when his eyes land on a sign in the crowd. It’s a bunch of guys, laughing all rowdy, holding up this big poster board that says, _HIT HER WITH THE FOUR, MITCH_.

It takes Mitch a second to get it, and then he’s looking for Matty without really meaning too, and she looks _furious_. She stays furious too, if how she plays is any indication – she’s got a goal in the first seven minutes, which is good, but she also takes a stupid interference call and the Bruins score on the PP, which is... less good.

She practically whips her gloves into her stall when they’re back in the room.

“I think they’re just joking,” Mitch offers, placating. It’s really not that huge of a deal. Also, like, hello, hockey game to win. “Like supporting our fictional relationship?”

“I don’t want their support,” Auston snaps, and yanks out her mouth guard really aggressively, like breaking her teeth is an effective way to prove a point. She turns away to chat with Willy, and it’s a pretty obvious Conversation Over signal, which kind of stings, but it’s not like Mitch wants a relationship with her either, so there.

Press stuff basically goes the same way it always does, and Mitch is getting used to the ratio of game questions to ‘you kissed your teammate’ questions so that he can do them on autopilot. He doesn’t even really think until they’re in his car on the way back home, deliberately not talking to each other.

Mitch holds out, lets Matty stew in the passenger seat and listens to the radio quiet in the background. She must be feeling guilty, because she’s the first one to speak up.

“It was just a really annoying sign to see,” she says, apropos of nothing, because fuck context, apparently. “They used to just call me a lesbian or make Mexican jokes.”

“Lesbians are cool,” Mitch says, even.

“I don’t think they mean it like a compliment,” Matty says, and Mitch shifts in his seat, stares pointedly at the dashboard, then out the window.

Matty sighs, only it’s more of a groan, leaning back against the head rest.

“Don’t be mad at me,” she says, which is Auston Matthews for an apology.

“I’m not,” Mitch says. It’s only, like, twenty-five percent a lie. He just- he wouldn’t be this mad about people assuming Matty was going to hit him with the four, whatever that even means. Definitely not this embarrassed.

“I just don’t like people assuming shit about me,” Matty mumbles, slumping down in her seat and dragging a hand through her hair. Mitch chances looking over at her, feels this weird sympathy in his gut at how down she looks. He wants to hug her. Stays in his seat. “It sucks.”

And it’s right on the tip of Mitch’s tongue, he wants to tell her he’s bi and he thinks he gets it and yeah, assumptions really suck, but- but that’s kind of the point, is people assuming shit, and usually when he tells straight people he’s bi they jump right to him being a closeted gay guy, and he doesn’t know if it’s like, a manliness thing, but people are just weird about it.

He doesn’t _really_ think Auston would be like that, only he’s already pretty sure she thinks he’s, like, a sexless man child, which is fine, except for Mitch already gets a lot of shit for being smaller than the only girl on their team, not that being bi is the same as being short, and not that he’s actually short, because he’s not, and they’re honestly two unrelated things, except sometimes it just doesn’t feel like it, is all.

“I know,” is what he decides on saying, in the end. Just safe. He punches Matty’s shoulder so she’ll know he’s not mad, and she punches him back in a generally friendly sort of way.

Mitch just. Leaves it, for now.

\---

They both get killed at the same time in Fortnite, which is stupid, because neither of them can revive the other, so they just have to sit and watch their characters die.

“Fuck,” Mitch huffs, and Matty makes a companionable kind of noise in return. “New game?”

The screen pings before she can answer, and it’s a message with a link.

“Um,” Mitch says, when Matty doesn’t show any sign of trying to respond to it. She usually answers pretty quick, if Mitch messages her.

“Ignore it,” she says, dismissive. “He’s probably just sending more shirtless pictures.”

“Um,” Mitch says again, significantly judgier.

Auston sighs. “This guy I get with sometimes.”

“Oh,” Mitch says, then, because he knows Matty hooks up a lot but it’s doesn’t usually happen while they’re trying to win a battle royale. He doesn’t really know what else to say, here, so what comes out is, “Ew.”

Matty rolls her eyes. “Relax, it’s been like, a year.”

“I don’t care,” Mitch says, automatic, and Matty shoots him this look and he kind of wants to take it back, which is stupid. He watched a Snapchat story about slut shaming once. He doesn’t care who Matty sleeps with.

Another message from the guy pops up, this dumb smiley face made of a colon and a bracket, as if typing emojis is even a thing people do anymore. Mitch wonders if the guy is taller than him.

Matts ignores the message, clicking through so they can get their points and stuff. Top ten, not bad. Not their best.

Mitch toys with the toggle on his controller.

“Do you like,” he starts, then Auston looks over at him and raises an eyebrow, and he has to man up and finish his sentence, even though it already sounds stupid in his head. “Do you like him?”

“You don’t have to like someone to have sex with them,” Matts says, like, _duh, Mitchell, you weirdo virgin_ , which, for the record, he’s not.

“But you fucking _should_ ,” Mitch argues, because he can’t imagine letting someone touch his dick unless they’re at least mostly chill. “You should like people like that.”

Matty looks at him, somewhere between exasperated and affectionate. “You’re so wholesome sometimes,” she says, and the way she says it, it’s a chirp, so Mitch shoves at her ass with his feet, trying half-heartedly to push her off the couch.

“You mean I’m right sometimes,” he says. “Most of the time.”

“Like, never,” Matty retorts, but there’s something in her eyes, suddenly, sort of- not sad, exactly. Wistful?

Mitch prods at her with his toes, gentler, this time. “Do you?” he asks, because Matty’s his best friend, and this kind of shit matters. “Like him?”

“Though you didn’t care,” Matts shoots back, and Mitch doesn’t know how he’s supposed to answer that. He just wants stuff to be easy, with them. They always were, before the kissing thing. Before Matts started being all weird, and Mitch-

He doesn’t _know_.

“I care about like, everything,” he admits, then, lighter, “That’s why I’m so wholesome, remember?”

“Whatever, Mitchy,” Matty says, and pulls at the toe of his sock until Mitch moves his feet back to his side of the couch.

“New game?” Mitch asks, because she’s not meeting his eyes. His feet feel kind of cold now that they’re not touching her.

“New game,” Auston agrees.

\---

It’s a really late flight home, the sky dark outside the window. Mitch is pretty sure the song he’s listening to would be better with two headphones – he’s getting a lot of bass and not a ton of anything else – but Matty’s got the other one, and control of the music on her phone, so he deals with it.

“You like it?” she asks, and Mitch hums, leaves her hanging, a little. She’s still wearing her not-friendship bracelet. It’s a nice thing to notice.

“It’s sick,” he says, eventually, and they both pretend like it doesn’t make Auston smile. “You’re a fucking hipster, though.”

“Maybe you’re just basic,” she retorts, like listening to weird indie hip hop and wearing excessively ripped jeans makes her some connoisseur of fine culture. “I’m adding it to the car playlist.”

Mitch makes a face and flicks at the collar of Matty’s sweater which is actually his sweater that she commandeered back at the airport, but he’s mostly settled in and ready to listen for the rest of the flight, only Zach gets back from the poker game at the back of the plane.

“Oh, sorry,” he says, because he’s the kind of guy to apologize even though Matty’s the one who stole his seat. “I can get my stuff and sit with Brownie.”

“Nah, I was going,” Matty shakes her head, tossing the other headphone back towards Mitch and getting out of her seat, rolling out her shoulder. “Patty wanted to talk, anyways.”

“There’s a non zero chance he’s been asleep since, like, ten,” Zach says, and returns Matty’s grin as she squeezes past Mitch.

“Night, Hyms,” she says, yawning. “Mitchy.”

“Night, Aus,” Mitch waves, and Zach echoes him, moving out of the way so Matty can make her way down the aisle. Mitch tucks his feet up so Zach can get to his seat, then leans them against the seat in front of him. He elbows Zach, light. “Sup.”

“Was Matty wearing your sweater?” Zach asks, kind of frowning.

“Yeah,” Mitch says, mostly focused on his phone. “You cool if I use you as a pillow?”

Zach fixes him with this look, this I’m 25 And I Know What I’m Talking About look that he always gets about everything, like when he asked the last time Mitch read a book and Mitch couldn’t remember. “You know that’s, like, a textbook move, right? Stealing clothes when a girl likes a guy?”

Mitch kind of laughs. “She was cold, dude.”

“Mitchell,” Zach says, and see, Mitch can deal with the romance stuff from the other guys, because they’re all idiots who think that girls are aliens, but Zach’s never been like that, has always been good about stuff. If he’s starting now-

“Don’t make it a girl/guy thing,” Mitch says, and he doesn’t know why it comes out almost pleading, but it does. “You’re better than that, man.”

“It’s not a girl/guy thing,” Zach says. “I took gender studies as an elective, it’s not about that, it’s about you two being clothes-sharing, cuddling teenagers-”

“I’m in my twenties,” Mitch says, automatic, even though being twenty years and six months old maybe doesn’t fully count as ‘in my twenties’. He looks down at his lap and starts untangling his headphones, prays that Hyms’ll get the hint. “And she’d actually murder us both if she heard us talking about this.”

Zach sighs. He looks almost pitying. “You won’t even consider that I could be right?” He’s not even chirping, just being genuine. It’s so, so much worse.

Mitch’s throat feels try, too suddenly. “I can’t, dude,” he says. “Seriously, it’s not like that.”

And it’s rude, maybe, but he puts in the other headphone, hits play on the music, and sort of turns into his seat so he’s staring the other way. It’s late, he’s tired, he just- he doesn’t want to do this, now. Not from Zach.

He can see the top of Matty’s head over the back of her seat. Her hair’s sticking up at the back, a little.

 _Thought you didn’t care_ , her voice says, in the back of his head.

Mitch turns up his music really loud to drown her out.

\---

The kiss was a dumb, spontaneous thing,

The media’s been saying shit about Mitch and Matty being in love since they were rookies. Since they were drafted, practically. Mitch kind of gets it, because they’re close, and also heteronormativity and other bigass words like that; and he also kind of gets why it’s gotten worse since playoffs, because kissing after Game Seven wasn’t the most convincingly platonic thing they could’ve done, probably.

It honestly wasn’t even Mitch’s fault, mostly. Like- the buzzer went, and the crowd erupted, and Mitch was so fucking excited he could’ve soared, and out of the crowd of blue jerseys he saw Matty coming full speed toward him. She was smiling, huge and open and just for Mitch, and Mitch launched himself at her, and he’d been going for the hug but Matts caught him and kissed him and that’s the moment that went viral, the little four second clip of their lips together before Matty put Mitch down and they laughed in each other’s faces with sheer joy before going to hug everyone else.

It wasn’t, like. A romantic thing.

That’s just- it’s not an option that’s on the table, or is ever going to be on the table, or even in the dining room, because Mitch isn’t gonna be the asshole who hits on the only girl in the league, and Matty’s never hinted at liking him like that, and hello, Mitch is shorter than her, which would be a visual fucking comedy fest. Mitch isn’t Matty’s type and she’s not his and even if those things weren’t true, she’s team, and Mitch has been a bi hockey player for long enough to know that you just don’t go there with team.

People can say what they want. Mitch knows where Matty stands, so he knows where he stands. The kiss thing is honestly- like, sure, Mitch kind of wishes that he was doing something slightly manlier than being lifted up by a girl in the moment, but other than all the shit they got after, it was kind of the best moment of his life, and anyways, none of that matters because it’s not allowed to be a thing, so it’s just. Not.

It’d just better if he didn’t have to see that one gif of the kiss, like, every time he goes on the internet, maybe. That’s just kind of-

It’s a nice kiss to look at, if it wasn’t him and Matty. They were really happy.

Stuff’s hard, sometimes.

\---

So they’re in the gym, and it’s a tarps off kind of thing, and they’re both breathing heavy when they pause next to the speaker to take a water break.

Matty squirts a little water on her face, shakes like a dog after a bath and flicks water drops onto Mitch. She’s still got a quarter of an inch on him, which kind of sucks, but Mitch has better abs, so that’s something.

“This fucking song, Marns,” Matty says, wiping off her brow. Kind of defeats the purpose of spraying the water, Mitch doesn’t point out.

“Don’t even try coming at the Backstreet Boys,” is all he says, because he is ride or die for all of his highly valid playlist choices, and Matty flings her towel at him as she heads back over to the weights.

Mitch watches her go, plays with the lid of his water bottle. He thinks, absently, that it’s kind of a shame they’re not in love, sometimes, because Matty’s objectively got a pretty sick body. Thicc with two ‘c’s and all that, plus, like, hella biceps. She’s kind of shiny with sweat. It’s not as gross as it should be.

Mitch shakes his head, hard, and brings himself forcibly back to earth. Ever since Hyms opened his mouth on the plane, he’s been- whatever the fuck this is, he doesn’t even know.

He dumps his water bottle back next to his stuff and heads over to claim the space next to Matts. She’s perched on the bench, waiting for one of the trainers to come and spot her. Mitch tugs on her ponytail on his way past, light, even though it’s kind of too short for there to be a ton to grab.

Matty grabs his wrist before he can get away, all casually superhero-esque first overall reflexes, and her hand overlaps Mitch’s friendship bracelet on his wrist. He lets her hold him in place. She probably could even if he didn’t let her.

“Sup?” he asks, and it’s not, like, a moment, but it’s just sort of- something. “Jealous of my rock hard abs?” He tosses it out like a joke, just the first thing that comes to mind.

“Kinda,” Matty says, and Mitch is so busy bracing for the chirp that it takes him a while to realize she’s kind of staring.

Like. At him.

And see, Mitch isn’t self-conscious, because that’s not how he rolls, but- like, he’s sweaty and in baggy shorts that make his legs look small and suddenly very aware that he’s got less weight on his barbell than she does, and yeah, she’s definitely staring.

“What’s that look for?” he asks, and Matty lets go of his wrist straight away, like she didn’t even realize she was still holding him.

“That wasn’t a look,” she says, cool as a cucumber, if cucumbers were prone to blushing.

“I’m not a piece of meat, y’know, Matts,” Mitch chirps, mostly a reflex. Deflects the fuck right out of there.

“I will absolutely fucking pants you,” Matts threatens without hesitating for even a second, ‘cause she’s the only one better at deflecting than Mitch and she’s maybe still looking a little flustered but Mitch knows she’s not joking, so he clutches his shorts and books it towards his own part of the floor.

The weird-nice illusion that she was checking him out lingers nearly forty minutes, ‘til he gets out of the shower and pauses in front of the mirror before putting his shirt on.

He puffs his chest out a little, kind of flexes, then makes a face at himself.

Definitely wasn’t checking him out.

\---

Shit Hitting The Fan Two-Point-O is a highly unfortunate accident that kind of just happens, because Willy just happens to be taking a selfie and he just happens to get Matty and Mitch in the background. They’re leaning against each other, Mitch using Matty’s shoulder as a pillow, ‘cause Matty added a bunch of new songs to their playlist, and they’re trying to sort them into pregame hype and pre-drinking hype and general hype categories.

No one really cares about the backstory.

Will takes the picture down straight away, like it matters, and apologizes for two days straight. Mitch isn’t- like, he’s not the type of dude to get super upset about most things, and there’s already a picture of them literally kissing out there, so one more circumstantially non-platonic image is like, whatever, no biggie.

Auston doesn’t feel the same. That’d be obvious even if Mitch didn’t know her inside out: she’s all tense before their game, the way she always gets about press stuff. About him stuff, if he’s being honest. Still, they pull out the win in OT, and Fred gets the shutout so Mitch doesn’t even have to do press, so he showers really quick and dawdles in the hall, texting his mom and waiting for Matty to finish talking to the media so they can head home.

He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to react, this time. Like- people already are pretty convinced they’re secretly dating. They have been since the playoffs kiss, and this headphones picture pretty much confirmed it, in their heads, and Mitch isn’t sure what this is supposed to change for him and Matty. Isn’t sure why it should, like, logically, but he knows it will, because Matty always gets weird about all the rumours about them. Which, hello, she maybe should’ve thought of before kissing him, but-

“Hey,” she says, and Mitch clicks off his phone straight away, turns to face her with a smile. Matts’ hair’s still wet from her shower, darker than usual and all stringy so her ears stick out, a little. Mitch doesn’t reach up to touch them, because that’d be weird.

“Matts,” he says, and accepts her fist bump, which has got to be a good sign.

“They ask about it?” he asks, and Auston doesn’t have to ask what ‘it’ is, just nods. It’s surly rather than downright scowling, another good omen.

“They’re gonna turn it into a we’re in a love thing,” she says, falling into step next to Mitch and shoving her hands in her pockets. “They always do.”

“Probably,” Mitch says, then, because his phone vibrates in his pocket and reminds him of his mom, which reminds him of manners and being a gentleman and whatever: “Sorry.”

Matty gives him this weird look, kind of scrunching up her nose. “Not your fault.”

“Still,” Mitch says, ambling along next to her. “It’s stupid. Just because we kissed like, one time.”

“I _know_ ,” Matty says, all fired up straight away. “Like, big deal, I got excited-”

Mitch nods. “Honestly, it’s not even- like, get over it. Friends kiss sometimes.”

“Seriously,” Matts agrees. “Like, obviously.” Her arm brushes his. Maybe by accident, maybe not.

“Yeah,” Mitch says. “Obviously.” He’s expecting Auston to say something else, keep the pity party going, but she just falls silent, and it’s-

Not awkward, really. Just loaded.

It _was_ just sharing headphones.

Mitch peeks over at her, but when he does Auston’s already looking at him, and their eyes meet for this weird, guilty second before they both look away, real fast.

The hallway’s silent.

“People keep posting pictures of you looking at me all soft,” Matty says. Really casual, except for how Mitch knows her well enough to know that it’s the on-purpose kind of casual, the kind that takes effort.

“Everyone looks at you like that,” he says. Maybe a little careful as well.

“They don’t.”

“They should,” Mitch says, and he doesn’t realize how that maybe sounds until it’s already out, but it’s the truth. It’s- for all her weirdness and pettiness and dumb sense of humour, Matty’s the best person he’s ever met. She deserves people looking at her soft. “I’m not doing it on purpose, I just like you.”

He can’t quite place the look on Auston’s face. It feels too personal, like he shouldn’t be allowed to see it. “I like you too.”

“Well, obviously,” Mitch says, really smartass, if he’s being honest. And that’s kind of it, he turns and reaches into his pocket to grab his phone, not even for anything in particular, just habit, ‘cause the conversation’s mostly done, and then he turns back around and then Matty’s kissing him.

It’s really gentle, is what clicks in Mitch’s brain, and that’s not a word he ever would’ve used to describe Auston, but that’s what this kiss is. The complete opposite of the last one, if that’s possible, because that was the heat of the moment and screaming fans and blood pumping through Mitch’s veins, and this is just the two of them in the halls of the arena like a million times before, and it’s quiet enough to hear the pipes creaking in the ceiling.

Mitch kisses back, after an embarrassingly long time. Obviously, he kisses back.

He’s not even thinking straight. It’s been so long since he’s kissed a girl, even longer since he’s kissed someone and felt like he was about to burn right out of his skin like this, like his best friend kissing him is the most enormous thing to ever happen in human history.

He’s got to-

“I had sex with a lot of guys, before,” he breaks the kiss and says, breathless, because he’s got to say it or he’ll explode. “Like I’m bi. In case that’s a dealbreaker.”

Matty shakes her head, doesn’t even open her eyes. “It’s not,” she says. “Why would it be?”

“It has been,” Mitch says, and Matty’s still shaking her head.

“It’s not,” she says, firm, and the relief hits like a tidal wave and that’s enough for Mitch, he’s all in here, but Matty doesn’t kiss him again, just stays really close. They’re nose to nose, leaning against each other, and the hall is empty except for them, and Matty’s eyes are still closed, and Mitch is focusing on all these tiny things; the little cut on her nose, the way her eyelashes stick straight out, the way he can see every detail of her skin, from here.

She still doesn’t kiss him again.

Mitch wants her to.

He puts his hand on her wrist, right over her bracelet. “Aus?” he asks, tentative. “You good?”

Auston squeezes her eyes shut even tighter. It’s not- it’s not so much eyes closed from kissing as much as it is her actively avoiding eye contact, anymore.

It’s just silent, one long second, then two, then three. “I shouldn’t have done that,” Matty says, finally. So quiet Mitch can hardly hear her. His stomach drops, a little.

“I didn’t mind it,” Mitch says, honest. He keeps his voice light. Jokey. They’re still so, so close, his lips still warm from where Matty’s were touching them, and then Matty pulls back, deliberate, back against the closed door of a storage room.

“It’s not the bi thing,” she says, and she’s got her hands in her hair, all stressed. “I swear to god, that’s not why.”

“Then why?” Mitch asks, and if he had any hope of the kissing starting back up, it disappears with the look at Auston’s face.

“I _can’t_ ,” she says, too loud, and she drags a hand through her hair again, rough enough that it must hurt. “It’s not- people have been saying this was going to happen forever, you saw the shit they said this summer. It’s exactly what people always accused me of, playing in men’s leagues, like- the one girl player gets stupid feelings for her teammate, that’s a fucking joke, I’m not gonna be-”

“Hey,” Mitch interrupts, because Auston sounds for real upset, the way she hardly ever gets. Mitch can’t- Matts is saying shit about feelings, like feelings-feelings, and he can’t even process, not even a little.

She looks so, so upset.

“It’s fine,” Mitch makes himself smile, reassuring. “It’s okay, we can just- it didn’t happen.”

“Mitchy,” Matty says, pained, and she finally looks at him, and Mitch keeps his smile, shakes his head before she can keep being sad.

“No,” he says. “No, look.” He does a little gesture with his hand. “Poof. It’s gone. You’re still weird and gross and fully in the BFF-zone, why would we kiss?”

“ _I’m_ gross?” Matts asks, all skeptical, and her voice is still all weird, but Mitch ignores it. “You’ve eaten chips off the floor before.” She wipes at her nose, kind of rough.

“That was one time and, also, five second rule, duh,” Mitch says, and everything still all weird and intense, but it gets Matty to laugh which is probably like, Mitch’s life’s goal or something, recently.

He doesn’t mean to reach out and squeeze Matty’s hand, but he does, and she squeezes his back, and it’s- it’s like, an objectively awkward thing, because they’re both still all gross from after the game, but they’re just holding onto each other, and Mitch wants to kiss her or get kissed or just rewind and re-do wherever he screwed up to make the kissing stop; and his not-quite-friendship bracelet weighs a trillion pounds on his wrist.

\---

They don’t talk about it. Not even an accidental mention, this time.

Mitch deals with the revelation that Auston Matthews apparently wants to kiss him, but also doesn’t – ? – really well, which is to say he ignores it, because he’s a solid eighty percent sure that’s what Matty wants him to do, and also because he still isn’t sure what ‘it’ is, exactly, because kissing someone then immediately freaking out is a lot of mixed signals at once.

Toronto’s covered in a layer of snow, and they’ve won three in a row, and Mitch is almost a quarter of an inch taller than Auston by the time they get to their next roadie, which is maybe the only thing in the entire universe that could distract him from the massive pile of nuclear waste that is their nebulous kissing status.

“’sup, tiny,” he says, messing up Matty’s hair, which he could have done before, but it’s different now that he can see the top of her head. “Shorty. Small one. Smol.”

“Did you just-” Matty splutters, like she’s personally offended by the word ‘smol’. “You can’t _say_ smol,” she scolds. “It’s a fucking text-based joke, how can you even-”

“You got what I meant, though,” Mitch wheedles.

“No,” Matty says, stubborn, but she’s doing Mitch’s favourite reluctant ‘I can’t believe we’re friends’ smile, and he flings an arm around her shoulders before remembering the whole nuclear waste kissing disaster and regretting everything he’s ever done.

He doesn’t know what the play is here. Like- they kissed, and he wants to kiss her again, but he wants to keep being a good friend, and it’s just- he doesn’t know if he’s supposed to suddenly stop touching her, now, like going cold turkey? Because they touch a lot. A lot, a lot; Mitch didn’t realize how much until he had to start being aware of it, and now it’s just confusing and weird and he’s got his arm around Matty like a million times before, except now he wants to, like, smell her hair and maybe kiss the top of her ear while he’s doing it.

He thinks he plays it off pretty well. Just leaves his arm there, a normal platonic friendly thing, because stuff is normal, damn it.

Matty does a long-suffering sigh, but leans against his chest and very gracefully does not mention how horrifyingly fast Mitch’s heart is going at the proximity. He’s a mess. A _mess_.

A taller than Auston Matthews mess, though. He’ll take it.

“I’m gonna get taller than you again,” Matty says, petty, like reading his mind.

“No chance,” Mitch says, shaking his head, even though he’s pretty sure she’s right. “No chance.”

Matty elbows him half-heartedly, but stays where she’s at, just normal. Mitch wonders if her heart’s beating fast as well.

\---

Mitch snarfs down, like, half a plate of nachos, which is bad because the whole professional athlete thing, but also really the only valid course of action when Matty’s across the bar talking with some underwear model looking guy, the same guy who approached her maybe ten minutes ago and did this super-confident nod and said, “Hey.”

Mitch has nachos, though, and a superhuman metabolism, so stuff’s fine, because- yeah. Whatever.

He picks at the plate, chews on one of the last remaining black olives.

He’s just-

He’s just kind of confused, actually, because it seems like common courtesy to not kiss someone then be weird and clingy around them for two and a half weeks and then basically eye-fuck the literal hottest guy Mitch has ever seen, even though his muscle is probably useless gym fluff and Mitch bets he can’t even _skate_.

Matty leans a little closer to the guy. Glances over her shoulder in Mitch’s direction, and Mitch stares down at the table so she won’t think he’s looking. He’s going to die alone with half a plate of nachos.

“She’s trying to make you jealous,” Naz says, swooping in in a cloud of bossy assholery, the way he tends to do. “I have sisters, I know the female mind, this is a _classic_.”

“No one actually does that,” Mitch says, even though Naz is basically a girl whisperer, and also a centre like Matts, and Mitch doesn’t actually really know many girls except his mom and his cousins and Matts, which maybe doesn’t say a ton for his track record, but-

No.

“Yes,” Naz says. “They do.”

“Matts isn’t, with me,” Mitch says.

Naz pats his head, consoling but also condescending.

Mitch eats another nacho.

Guys are so much _easier_ than this.

He looks in the mirror once he gets home, before he’s even taken his shoes off. He summons up all of his ‘I’m a millionaire professional athlete’ big dick energy and does a little cool guy nod at his reflection.

“Hey,” he tries.

It’s really, really, stupid. As stupid as he’s ever been, maybe, and he’s stupid on a semi-regular basis, especially recently. Just- embarrassing shit, frankly. Flirting with his mirror. Get it together, Mitchell.

It was better when he knew for sure Matty didn’t like him. At least then he didn’t have so much stupid fucking hope.

\---

The bi thing comes up eventually, with Matts. Mitch sort of figured it would. Maybe not via Matty saying “So, you fuck guys sometimes?” out of literally nowhere, but sneak-attacking emotional moments is clearly her M.O., so Mitch just bites the bullet.

“I like people,” he says, his standard answer. He shrugs. “I dunno. I was mostly around dudes, growing up? Like, on teams and stuff. Girls were weird.”

“Wow,” Matty says, dry, and Mitch rolls his eyes.

“Not, like, actually, it’s- you know what I mean,” he says. “I like them, girls, it’s just in a different way. And like, not as often?” He shrugs, again. He’s made of shrugs. He doesn’t know how to talk about being bi with the girl he likes. “I don’t know.”

Matty grabs another cookie from the table and chews thoughtfully. Her mom’s visiting – Mitch can hear her on the phone from the guest room – which means they get actual home cooked food, which means Mitch is basically camping at Matts’ place for the extent of Mrs. Matthews’ visit.

Mitch picks a crumb off the couch, crumbles it more between his fingers.

“Do the guys know?” Auston asks, quiet.

“Fuck, no,” Mitch says, because- no. No chance in hell.

Matty’s biting her lip. Her cheeks are bulging out with the remains of her cookie, a little. “Sorry.”

Mitch doesn’t shrug, but he comes pretty close. Matty’s straight, so there’s some stuff she can’t really get. But it’s a nice gesture.

He ventures a smile, because if there’s one thing Mitch Marner doesn’t do, it’s dwell on being sad. Not his style. “Can you imagine how nice the guys’d be about letting me know they see me as a little brother, just in case-”

“-in case you secretly had a crush on them,” Matty finishes, and she’s grinning, and Mitch can’t help but mirror her. “Every team I’ve ever been on, oh my god, the little sister shit comes out after like a week.”

“Only way to make sure we don’t secretly want to bang everyone in the locker room, I guess,” Mitch says.

“Oh, obviously,” Matty says, pulling a face all exaggerated so that Mitch can’t help but laugh. Matty’s grin turns into something softer, this genuine, tiny little smile, and she leans her head against his and just kind of stays there.

It hits Mitch, then, how much he missed this. Misses this, even though it hasn’t technically gone anywhere, but- just the two of them, together and happy and all cozy together without second-guessing if he’s being too romantic or overthinking what Matty wants from him.

She’s his best friend. She’s- god, Mitch just wants to, like, bask in her presence, to make her laugh and share her mom’s cooking and goof off on the ice after practice and fantasize about winning a cup together. He wants this, he wants _her_ , as bad as he thinks he’s ever wanted anything except for Toronto and the Leafs. Maybe equal to that, which is such a huge thing he can’t even breathe.

He turns, just enough that Auston’s hair tickles his nose. “You’re the first girl I kissed in a long time,” he says, quiet.

“Sorry it sucked,” Matty says, even enough. She doesn’t move away.

“It didn’t suck,” Mitch says, and he’s too close to really see what Matty’s face does, but he knows she’s smiling anyways.

“Yeah,” she says; then, “Thanks for telling me about being bi.”

“Yeah,” Mitch says. “Also-” He breaks off.

“Yeah?” Matty prompts.

Mitch chickens out.

“Also, I’d probably let J.T. hit it,” he says. It’s not a lie, technically.

There’s this beat of silence and then Auston’s laughing, dorky and perfect and loud.

“Me too,” she gets out, and Mitch can’t help but laugh too, and he doesn’t know if it’s at how stupid they are or at how relieved he is that the bi thing hasn’t been weird or at how boring-hot John Tavares is, but whatever it is, it’s the best things have been in forever.

Mrs. Matthews must put a blanket over them or something, after they’ve both fallen asleep, because Mitch wakes up to a dark living room and a silent apartment. He can see snowflakes drifting down outside, landing on the window ledge.

Matty’s a wall of heat at his side, and she’s tracing the outline of his tattoo. Just running her fingers along Mitch’s forearm, so gentle she’s barely touching him, except for how she is. Mitch wonders if he’s dreaming.

He stays still, keeps his breathing even until he can drift off again for real. It’s the kind of moment he wants to hold on to.

\---

The season rolls on. It’s December, and they’ve already got a playoff spot all but locked up, but Mitch isn’t about to take a second for granted. It’s the little things: he has a three point night against the Canes. Jakey gets a tooth knocked out, and they all have to make fun of him for his new lisp for a solid week. It’s the holidays and Mitch gets to spend three days hanging out with his dog and his little cousins and snapchatting Matty to make fun of her for spending Christmas somewhere there are literal cacti, and then it’s New Years Eve and Mitch is absolutely fucking _hammered_.

He likes talking. He likes talking more than usual when he’s drunk, and he’s _so_ drunk, currently, from Patty’s grown-up New Years party, and also for the foreseeable future, because beer is fun and cocktails are funner. Fun- more fun? Funner? They’re that. One had a sour key on the rim.

“A _sour key_ , Matts,” Mitch says very emphatically, because he’s still fucking floored by the- the _innovativeness_ , of candy and booze combined into one perfect candy and booze lovechild.

Matty just laughs, keeps kind of swaying against him as they make their way back to Mitch’s place. She laughs a lot when she drinks, Matty, like she loses whatever filter usually keeps her serious and turns into crinkled eyes and round cheeks and this huge, cheesy smile at all the dumb stuff Mitch does.

They manage to get out of the elevator at what must be the right floor, because Mitch’s doorkey works after only four tries, and then they’re in the apartment and Matty dumps Mitch unceremoniously onto the couch.

“Thanks,” Mitch says, looking up at her and smiling because he’s sleepy and Matty’s his best friend and she also looks like a total smoke, tonight and every other night. “You’re so pretty.”

“We’re drunk,” Matty says, blinking like being serious is taking a lot of effort. “You’re _really_ drunk.”

“No, I’m serious,” Mitch insists, because he _is_ , because Auston’s like, a hockey goddess, the bomb dot com. “You could bench like, three of me, probably.”

Auston snorts. It’s a nice snort. “You were just calling me pretty, dumbass.”

“’Cause you are,” Mitch says, duh, and then he yawns and talks through it, “and fuckin’ ripped.”

Matty’s sitting on the couch next to him by the time he’s finished yawning, so he thinks that counts as a win. Go Mitchy, killing the game.

He snuggles up next to Auston, and Auston snuggles up right back. Mitch wonders if he could just, like, live here, just stay on his couch with his favourite girl ever and never not be here touching like this.

Matty’s giggling to herself, not for any reason Mitch can figure, and drumming her fingers on his wrist where his tattoo disappears under his bracelet. Mitch watches her fingertips against his skin for a pretty long time, or at least until he gets bored.

“Do you think we’re gonna get married?” he asks, when the bored thing finally kicks in. It’s the first thing he thinks to say. Sour key cocktails, or whatever.

“We’re like, twenty,” Matty says, which isn’t a no.

“Yeah, but who else would I want to get married with?” Mitch asks, like _gotcha_. Check and mate. “We could have matching suits again, Matty.” He can imagine it. The two of them dancing in the middle of all their family and friends, riding off in a limo or like, a horse drawn carriage or something. Mitch isn’t picky.

Matty leans on Mitch’s shoulder with a happy sigh. “That’d be cool,” she says, which is how Mitch knows she’s super hammered as well, because she would never admit to that, sober.

“I know it would,” Mitch says, and he presses his face into Matty’s hair. He loves her shampoo smell. Mostly because it’s hers. She’d probably let him borrow it sometime.

He wonders when the new year’s coming. Soon, probably.

Matty’s real relaxed against Mitch and her arm’s linked with his when she says, “You’re pretty too.”

“And fuckin’ ripped?” Mitch asks, because pretty’s for girls.

“And fuckin’ ripped,” Matty agrees, and Mitch wasn’t really trying to be funny but Matty laughs anyways, eyes bright like she’s really genuinely happy. She looks like how hockey feels, which is a big deal, probably.

They’re just looking at each other. They’ve been looking for a while.

“You make me laugh,” Auston says, quiet. “You always make me laugh.”

“I know,” Mitch says, too drunk not to tell the truth. Just simple. “I try really hard to.”

“I know,” Matty says back, and then she leans in and presses a kiss to Mitch’s cheek, kind of lingering close. “Happy New Year.”

“Love you,” Mitch says, and he’s not sure if it’s because he turns his head or because Matty’s still so close or because they can hear fireworks starting to go off outside, but Matty kisses him for real this time, on his lips, just like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

 _This girl is going to literally ruin my life_ , is what Mitch thinks, but then he’s too busy kissing her back for anything dumb like rational thought.

He’s drunk enough that the room’s spinning a little, but not so drunk that he can’t sink into it. It’s just trading kisses, the two of them making out on the couch, and even when they lie down they’re both still kissing, and Matty’s breath is warm on Mitch’s lips.

She’s an easy person to kiss, or maybe they’re just good at kissing each other: it’s nice and peaceful and comfortable, the easiest thing in the world with her hand up at his jaw, keeping him where she wants him, and Mitch doesn’t know why they weren’t doing this before, when it’s this easy.

He kisses the palm of her hand, eventually, before they fall asleep. Most of the making out stuff is kind of a tipsy blur, but that part, and Matts’ smile after, the happiest smile she ever gave him, Mitch remembers crystal clear.

\---

Mitch wakes up smiling, and also with a really sore back. The second part, he realizes pretty quick, is because he apparently slept on the floor. He suspects that that was more due to falling off the couch than any actual chivalry, but it doesn’t super matter, because Matty’s not on the couch either.

Mitch manages not to throw up when he stands up, which is probably a win, even if it doesn’t really feel like one. He isn’t really smiling any more, still a little unsteady on his feet as he makes his way down the hall, following the noise.

The bathroom light is too bright, fluorescent and making Mitch blink and his head pound. Matty’s standing at the sink brushing her teeth with the extra toothbrush Mitch has been keeping here for her since they were rookies, and Mitch knows that she knows that he’s there, but she doesn’t turn around.

He stands in the doorway, awkward.

And- and the thing is, is the whole walk down the hall, Mitch has been kind of wanting to throw up, either because of the hangover or the fear of this conversation, but standing here, it hardens into some kind of resolve. He knows what happens next, knows that they’re just going to pretend that last night didn’t happen, only it did happen, and Mitch has been losing sleep over this since summer, and he’s not doing it again, fuckin’- New Year’s resolution, right there.

“You kissed me again,” he says, and only belatedly realizes he should’ve maybe started with a ‘good morning’ or at least something less accusatory, but Matty’s not even looking at him.

“We were drunk,” is all she says, through a mouthful of toothpaste, and that’s it.

“Right,” Mitch says, after like, a literal entire minute of waiting for Auston to say something, anything else. “But I just- that’s three times now, Matts.”

Auston leans down and spits into the sink. “So?” she asks, and now she meets his eyes, all defiant. Daring him to keep going.

“So,” Mitch says, because he’s not chickening out this time. “So I don’t usually kiss people unless I want to keep kissing them, and I don’t- maybe it’s different for you? But you just- you made it pretty clear you didn’t want that, with me, except you kissed me again, and you keep on doing stuff that makes me think you might actually want it? And I don’t know what you want me to do.”

Auston wheels around and glares at Mitch, like how dare he have the audacity to mention the fact that they spent a good chunk of last night making out on his couch. “I want you to let me brush my teeth in peace,” she says.

“Are you kidding me?” Mitch says, incredulous. His voice is too loud, and it cracks a little bit, but he just- he can’t, anymore, with this, with kissing then not kissing then kissing then not, just on repeat forever.

“What do you want me to say?” Matty demands, fierce, and Mitch throws his hands up, frustrated.

“Whatever you want, that’s the whole point of me asking-”

“I already told you it’s a bad idea!”

“Then why did you kiss me, why would you-”

“I just wanted to!” Auston nearly shouts, and her voice echoes off the tile, and they’re standing a couple feet apart but Mitch feels like she just bowled him over.

The room is quiet. Mitch can hear his heartbeat in his head.

Matty takes a breath, and it shakes. The next time she speaks, it’s quieter. Embarrassed, almost. “I wanted to kiss you, okay?”

And- like, yeah. Yeah, it’s okay.

It’s really fucking okay, and Mitch is like, over-the-moon happy, or, like, part of him is, but the other part just feels kind of settled in a way he hardly ever is. Just- it makes sense. Matty wanted to kiss him, and she said it out loud, and it’s more than okay.

“Do you still want to?” Mitch asks. “To kiss me?”

Auston drags a hand through her hair, kind of clings to the ends. “Not on purpose,” she mumbles, which is probably mildly insulting except for how, if she’s saying what Mitch thinks she’s saying, it might also be the best thing ever, possibly.

He... is pretty sure she’s saying what he thinks she’s saying.

“Okay,” he says, and takes a step forward, then another. Matty stays where she is, her back against the counter, just watching him. It’s intense, the air humming with electricity, and something in the back of Mitch’s mind notices that they got to the same height again at some point, except for how he’s standing on the plush bath mat, which adds maybe a centimetre to his height, which isn’t really the point, because-

They’re so close, nose to nose.

“Okay,” Mitch says again. His palms feel all sweaty. “Just. Tell me if I’m off base, here.”

He lifts up, just a little, and touches his lips to hers. Matty’s hand flies up, flat against Mitch’s chest, and he braces to get shoved away, but instead she grabs a handful of his t-shirt and pulls him in closer. She kisses back, and Mitch does this stupid breathy laugh, he’s so relieved.

“You have really minty breath,” he says, softer than he means to, and Auston laughs all shaky and then they’re kissing again, Mitch leaning in so Matts is pressed back into the counter, and her skin’s warm and soft and perfect when he gets his hands on her waist.

It starts slow and stays that way for, like, no time at all – it’s the kind of thing they’ve been waiting for, touching each other like this, and it’s so much that Mitch can’t make himself take it slow, can’t make himself do anything but hold onto Matty and kiss her as good as he can, even when she heaves herself up onto the counter so she can get her legs loose around his waist, and Mitch can drag a hand down her back, under her shirt. He’s already hard, already super eager.

“You wanna-” she gets out.

“ _Yes_ ,” Mitch says, probably too fast to be cool, like it matters, at a moment like this. “Obviously, yes, holy-”

Matty grins against him, and she doesn’t even break the kiss but she pulls back just enough so that she can wriggle out of her pants, which fall to the ground and land mostly on top of Mitch’s feet, as if he’s ever going to care about anything other than Matty guiding his hand to where she wants it ever again.

She’s wet through her underwear, which is insanely hot, like exploding Mitch’s fucking brain levels of hot because holy shit, that’s because of her wanting _him_ ; and he touches her really light a couple of times through the fabric, just testing. Teasing, maybe, and it gets Matty to rock up towards his hand.

Mitch hasn’t been with a girl in a while, but he listens to Auston’s reactions as he touches her and thinks he’s doing okay, because her grip tightens on his shoulders and she like, shakes a couple of times, and it’s not like she does any porn stuff, moaning or all that, but she’s reacting and she’s into it and Mitch can’t help but be into it ‘cause of that.

“Here?” he asks, when he presses down harder than before and it makes her gasp; and Matty just nods really fast like she doesn’t have words. Mitch keeps it up, rubs little circles until his wrist kind of hurts, but he doesn’t get to the point of worrying about how to tell the Leafs trainers that he got a sex sprain, because Matty’s head kind of goes back and she shudders through her whole body as she comes, her thighs squeezing around Mitch’s hand, and he can’t look away.

“Holy fuck, Aus, you’re so pretty,” he breathes, and this time he doesn’t even have the excuse of being drunk for how incredibly lame of a thing that is to say – ‘pretty’, what the fuck, he could’ve gone with ‘hot’ or ‘sexy’ or ‘gorgeous’ and his brain went ‘pretty’? – but Matty just does this crooked smile.

“You talk _so much_ ,” she says, and Mitch doesn’t think he’s imagining that she sounds at least a little endeared, which is a good sign, so he focuses on kissing her neck, just lingering there while she catches her breath. He’d be cool with doing that for a while, rubbing at her hipbone with his thumb and mapping out the slope of her neck with his mouth, but it’s barely any time at all before Matty’s reaching down and getting a hand in his pants.

“Good?” she asks, and Mitch can only nod, because he was embarrassingly hard before and now that she’s actually touching him, fucking forget it.

Matty’s jerking him off like she knows what she’s doing, her hand moving fast along Mitch’s dick, and it’s kind of a weird angle but Mitch doesn’t even care, ‘cause he didn’t think today could possibly get any better but, woah, Auston Matthews is giving him a handjob and his brain is exploding. Full on- boom, he’s a goner.

“Matty,” he pants, only partly aware of what he’s saying as she picks up the pace. He’s going up on his tiptoes without even realizing what he’s doing, just wanting to get closer to where she’s still up on the counter. “Matty, Matty-”

“C’mon,” Auston urges, right up against him, and her eyes are dark like when she’s flying up the ice with the puck, like Mitch is some other record she’s going to break into smithereens, and he comes in her hand like that, clinging to her so his legs won’t buckle.

He’s pretty sure he swears, like, a bunch. Probably bad language is allowed when you come as hard as he just did. Still, he manages to stay upright, and he just buries his face in the crook of Matty’s neck and stays there and only takes like, five or so minutes to be able to breathe normal again, so it’s probably a win on both counts.

It turns out that spontaneous bathroom sex is really convenient, because Matty can turn around and rinse her hand off in the sink right next to her while Mitch comes back to earth, or tries to. He mostly fails.

Matts kisses him again, right at the corner of his mouth. That helps.

“I didn’t even brush my teeth yet,” Mitch says, keeping his eyes shut.

“I can tell,” Matty says, dry, and she flicks little droplets of water at his face, playful. “Not minty at _all_.”

Mitch jabs at her armpits where he knows she’s ticklish, and- see, she she nearly falls off the counter laughing and ends up kind of strangling him in her attempts not to fall, ‘cause the girl’s got a fucking _grip_ , but Mitch is laughing in spite of the near death experience because that just happened, he just had sex with Auston Matthews and it was the best ever and she looks like she’s just as happy, which makes Mitch want to like, throw his arms out and sing.

He kisses her again, because he’s allowed to, and she’s maybe a little taller than him once they’re both standing on the plush rug, but Mitch doesn’t even care.

Best New Year ever, probably.

\---

The thing that people forget is that Mitch has had a bunch of sex. Like, he gets that he’s kind of the kid brother on the team, which is cool, because he likes hugs and knowing that people have his back, but- like, the guys baby him a bunch, but he had a girlfriend in high school, and he hooked up with a ton of guys in juniors, and yeah, he’s had sex.

Sex with Auston, though? Next fucking level.

Mitch isn’t sure what he’s expecting, after that first time. If Matty’s maybe going to turn into, like, a _girlfriend_ -girl, start texting him heart emojis and calling him baby and stuff. Instead, they spend the rest of January 1st playing ‘chel on Mitch’s couch, and it gets interrupted for making out and snuggles a couple of times, but the rest is just normal, piled up together, chirping each other when they do something dumb, and the normal stays the next day, and the next.

So Mitch keeps his best friend, which is the best news ever, and now he gets to kiss her, which is just- better than best. Bestest? It’s that.

It’s like all the weirdness and uncertainty that’s been lurking around since summer fades to the background. Matty wants to kiss him and Mitch wants to kiss her back, and it’s all out there in the open and they’re as good as their word because there’s so much kissing, hella kissing, in their apartments and when the guys are asleep on the plane and when Mitch tugs her into a supply closet after they’re working out and Matty’s back muscles are distracting enough to make it basically an emergency.

Not _just_ kissing, obviously.

“I can’t fucking move,” Matty pants, sprawled out in her bed after Mitch finishes eating her out. “I thought you said you didn’t get with girls a lot, why’re you good at that?”

Mitch shrugs, crossing his arms so he can lean on Matty’s stomach and meet her eyes and like, bask in the praise. “I watched a bunch of porn for tips, one time.”

Matts raises an eyebrow. “One time,” she says.

“Yesterday,” Mitch admits, without putting up much of a fight. He’s dedicated. That and enthusiasm are his best sex assets. People dig it. “It was yesterday. I made notes.”

“You’re so weird,” Matty says, and she sounds vaguely distressed but also, yeah, she digs it. “I can’t believe you’d admit to that.”

“You liked it though, right?” Mitch confirms, and Matty lies back against the pillow and huffs out a breath.

“I can’t _move_.”

Mitch beams. “Worth it, then.”

Matty laughs out loud, and she still sounds kind of out of breath, but clearly not enough that she can’t haul him up the bed – she’s so _strong_ – and kiss him, and then it turns out she can move, actually, because she rides Mitch until he’s like, a shaking mess of a human.

“Fucking _fuck_ ,” he says, and now it’s Matty’s turn to smile all smug. And yeah, they fully do high five post-sex, because they’re still them, but they also cuddle after and Mitch presses kisses to the back of Matty’s neck while he’s being the big spoon, because they’re the awesome new version of them that does stuff like that.

He’s still working on figuring out what this version of them is called. Like- he doesn’t know if they’re hooking up or dating or what.

It feels like they’re dating, to Mitch. They hang out as much as they always have, which is a lot, and they make spaghetti and eat it right out of the pot, which technically has got to count as a date, right? And, and Mitch actually goes to Matty’s door to pick her up when they’re driving to games, because that’s what you’re supposed to do with girls you like, even though it just makes Matty look at him like he’s a weirdo and race him back to the car.

Mitch really wants them to be dating. He wants to hold hands and kiss Auston even when they’re around the guys and just be her man or whatever, cause honestly, cross his heart and hope to die, he’s already hers in every way that matters.

\---

So they lose in the shootout, which is bad, but then they’re making out in Mitch’s car, which is so, so good, enough to nearly even out.

Mitch feels like he’s in a music video or something, his tongue in Matty’s mouth and the parking garage lights making everything look trippy and really cool. They’re still in their suits from the game, or, like, mostly – his jacket’s discarded on the floor somewhere, and he’s only managed to undo half of Matty’s shirt buttons before getting distracted by her face, ‘cause it’s a hell of a face, and he loves it a lot, so he reaches up and traces the corner of Matty’s jaw and just kind of leaves his hand there. It’s a really mushy gesture, and Mitch would maybe be embarrassed about it, only Matty gets this look on her face and blurts, “I have a song.”

“Like to sing?” Mitch asks after a second, real skeptical because he’s heard Auston try to do karaoke and ‘catastrophically failing bus engine’ would be a generous description.

“No, dumbass,” Matty scolds, flicking at Mitch’s chest just enough to sting. “On the playlist, Jesus.”

“Okay?” Mitch says, a little thrown off. It’s weird timing, and it’s not just mentioning it; Matty actually clambers off of him and gets the aux and opens Spotify on her phone. She’s going pretty slow, Mitch thinks, and at first he chalks it up to himself being impatient, but eventually, no, Matty’s definitely stalling, because it doesn’t take this long to play a song.

“What, are you like, nervous?” he prods, teasing.

“I don’t get nervous,” Matty says right away. Mitch didn’t mean to reverse psychology her but he apparently did, because she hits play and sits back in her seat and watches him like a hawk while he listens to the lyrics.

And- oh. This is a _gesture_.

He’s not the kind of guy who cries, but he gets a lump in his throat, kind of. “Taylor Swift?” he asks, touched. “Aus.”

“Don’t be cheesy about it,” Matty says, dead serious. “I will literally die if you make me talk about this, don’t make it a big deal, Mitch.”

“I won’t,” Mitch says. “Jeez.”

“Good,” Matty says, and she’s still being all weird and nervous, so Mitch doesn’t push it, but-

He can’t stop smiling.

Can’t dedicate a Taylor Swift song to someone without really, really liking them, probably. Without _dating_ them.

“What?” Matty asks, and Mitch smoothes down the front of her shirt, shrugs.

“Nothing,” he says. “Really good song, Aus.” He presses a kiss to her lips, just a peck. Still fucking smiling, because yeah, that’s not going away anytime soon.

Matty looks almost thoughtful. “You always call me Aus when I make you happy,” she says, and Mitch’s first instinct is to deny it because it’s like, excessively gross and cute, but then Matty adds, “I like it” and he’s never calling her anything else again.

“Aus,” Mitch says. “Auston, Aus, Auston Matthews, hit ‘em with the four li-”

“Shut _up_ ,” Matty grins, and then proceeds to shut him up with her mouth, and Mitch is totally cool with that even though he whacks his head on the little safety handle that Patty insists is for dry cleaning, which is stupid, and also so, so much not the priority, with Matty half in his lap and her hands inching closer to his belt.

He still feels like he’s dreaming sometimes, getting this.

He taps Matty’s bracelet, the leather all worn out from wearing it non-stop for months. “BFFs,” he says, ‘cause he thinks ‘I love you’ might be a lot, for tonight.

Matty smiles, and then things are heating up quick, her tongue in Mitch’s mouth and Mitch getting a hand under her shirt because he’s a fan of Matty in general and boobs in general and Matty’s boobs in particular – he’s like, a twenty year old dude, he’s allowed this – and then-

“BFFs,” Auston repeats, giggling. “Boob friends forever.”

Mitch has to stop his noble bra removal quest and pick up his jacket from the floor and throw it right at Matty’s face, then, because: “That’s _not_ funny,” he says, laughing so hard he can’t breathe. “That’s the least fucking funny thing I’ve ever heard, you’re such a loser dork-”

Matty doesn’t even respond, she’s laughing so hard. And Taylor Swift is still playing, and Mitch literally has tears in his eyes from laughing at this totally ridiculous person he spends all his time with; and they never quite get back to the whole hot and heavy car makeout thing, but he gets to see Matty being a goof like no one’s even watching, and it’s just as good, Mitch decides.

\---

Drinks with the team goes the way it usually does, at first. Mitch photobombs all of Matty’s selfies, argues with the old guys about which GM would win in a hypothetical fight – it’s obviously Dubas, Mitch knows what loyalty is, so there, _Morgan_ – then drinks some weird craft beer with Trav, all before midnight, ‘cause he’s productive as fuck.

He ends up looking for Matty, because he usually does. He sidesteps a bunch of drunk locals, squeezes past the goalies at the bar, and winds up behind Matts and Willy as they’re chatting over rum and cokes. They look really into it, so Mitch is about to leave them alone, because liney bonding is important and Matts and Willy like to bond over weird designer clothes and shit that Mitch wants no part in, but he catches the end of Matty’s sentence before he can find another distraction.

“... to leave it, Will,” she’s saying, all exasperated.

“No, I’m not even chirping, you two are precious,” Willy says, grinning at Matts all cherubic while he chews on his straw. “He follows you around like a _puppy_ , it’s adorable.”

And that in itself is like- it’s whatever, just Willy being a gossip the way he always is when he’s tipsy, except this time he’s talking about Mitch, and it maybe says something kind of unflattering that Mitch knows that right away, but he does.

Matts is rolling her eyes, still not seeing Mitch. “You know I said to leave the romance stuff,” she says, then something that Mitch doesn’t catch over the crowd, and Willy just shrugs.

“You’re definitely the one who fucks him, that’s all I’m saying,” he says, and Auston-

Auston _laughs_. Kind of in spite of herself, or at least that’s how it sounds, but she laughs, and Mitch’s stomach sinks.

His fight or flight response must kick in, because his whole body just goes _get out_ . He doesn’t want to hear this, he doesn’t want to _be_ here; only then Willy catches sight of him and beams.

“Mitchy!” he calls, flinging his arms out and nearly toppling off of his stool. So, cool, he’s wasted.

Matty’s not. Mitch wishes she was, because then he could blame the laughing thing on that, but he can’t, and she just flashes him a smile and kind of nods. “Hey,” she says, all normal, and Mitch doesn’t want to look at her, really, but he nods back.

“Hi,” he says, stepping a little closer so she’ll be able to hear him. “I was just leaving.” Which isn’t true, but-

“Oh, I’ll walk with you, my place is close,” she says, sliding off of her seat to stand next to Mitch. She reaches up and messes up Willy’s hair. “Drink some water before bed.”

“I will not,” Willy says cheerily, already stealing what’s left of Matty’s rum and coke, and Matty’s turning to Mitch and tugging on his belt loop so he has no choice but to follow her out of the place.

It’s not even- it’s not even the fucking thing, honestly, because Mitch has done it both ways and if Matty wanted to fuck him, that’s- like, it’s cool, he’s not one of those guys with baggage about bottoming or whatever, and maybe Willy was just joking about it, but he never made those jokes about the other guys Matty hooked up with, and Mitch doesn’t think Matty would’ve let him.

The weather outside’s as shitty as Mitch feels. It’s cold out, gusts of wind shaking the empty trees and sending the occasional scrap of paper blowing across their path. Matty’s checking her phone as they make their way down the street.

She’s taller than him again, definitely by more than a quarter inch. Mitch wants to blame it on her shoes but they’re just sneakers like his, maybe with even thinner soles. He shouldn’t care about it. He shouldn’t, but he does, and it nags there in his brain, traitorous and angry for no good reason.

Mitch feels _small_ , walking next to Matty in his expensive shoes and no socks even though it’s February and freezing out, like it’s just now hitting him how people must see them. The local kid who still gets articles published about how skinny he is tagging along with the most out-of-his-league girl in the world, reading too much into everything she did, everything _they_ did.

“Hey,” Matty says, all casual, looking up from her phone and breaking the silence, “so-”

“Do you even like me?” Mitch asks, without planning on it, and Matts looks as surprised as he feels, but he’s just- he just wants to fucking know.

“What kind of question is that?” Matty asks, bemused, and Mitch shrugs his shoulders, chews on his lip.

“Dunno,” he hedges, scuffing his toe on the pavement. “Like, I don’t know if it’s just ‘cause we were friends first, or if- I don’t know, if you think I’m not, like, manly or whatever-”

Matty laughs, _again_ , and Mitch loves her laugh, but for the second time tonight it’s like a punch to the gut. He can feel his cheeks flushing red and hot and embarrassed, and he goes to step forward, to like, sprint home or something, but Matty catches his arm and stops him in his tracks.

“Stop, I didn’t mean to laugh,” she says, and it sounds mostly sincere, only she’s still visibly trying not to grin, so the apology falls flat. “You know I like you, just- like, manliness, what even-”

“Did you even tell anyone we’re a thing?” Mitch interrupts, because he can take a joke as well as anyone, but feeling like a joke, that’s shitty, and that’s what’s happening now.

Auston maybe picks up on the edge in his voice, because her smile drops, slow. “That’s not fair,” she says. “That’s not about you.”

“It sort of feels like it is, Matts,” Mitch says, tugging his arm out of her grip, and something hardens in Matty’s face.

“You see the shit they already write about us,” she says, like Mitch is missing something obvious, here.

Mitch shrugs, forceful. “So they’re writing it anyways, why not just-”

“You don’t know what it’s like for me,” Auston cuts him off. “Everything I do, people talk about. I’m the only one.”

“You don’t think I know how it is to be the only one?” Mitch asks, because- he never comes out to anyone, no one at the NHL level, and he came out to her, and now this.

“Don’t,” Matty snaps, dismissive, because she always fucking is. “No one even knows you’re bi.”

Mitch pulls himself up to his full height. “So it’s not a thing,” he says, loud. “So because people don’t know it just doesn’t affect me, then-”

“It’s not the same!” Auston bursts out, and they’re just standing in the street, maybe a foot apart, all-but-yelling at each other while the wind whips their hair around. “I don’t have the option not to let people know, everyone looks at me and the first thing they see is the Mexican girl from Arizona getting paid more than them.”

“None of the guys think that,” Mitch says, defensive, because all the guys on the team are decent people, and if anyone had any questions at first, they’ve all seen Matts play enough to know she deserves to be here. “Don’t act like we think that.”

“If you don’t, it’s ‘cause I didn’t let you,” she retorts, sharp. “Because I earned it. You want me to fuck with that and add ‘sleeping with a teammate’ to the list of stuff wrong with me, just because you can’t handle someone calling you small?”

Mitch throws his hands up, frustrated. “Oh my god, it’s not about people thinking I’m small!”

“Then what?” Auston demands, right up in Mitch’s face, all intimidating, and Mitch doesn’t back off.

“It hurt my feelings!” he says, loud, and it echoes there in the windy street, because Matty doesn’t say a comeback or yell at him or anything, just glares at him for long enough that it sort of turns into staring.

He sounds so stupid. Fucking- kindergartener style, _you hurt my feelings_ , no wonder she doesn’t take him serious.

Mitch wipes at his nose, rough. It’s running ‘cause of the cold. Matts’ll probably think he’s crying. “You’re embarrassed about me in front of the guys and I heard what you said to Willy and it hurt my feelings, okay?” he mumbles. It doesn’t come out as angry as he means it to. Just kind of pathetic.

Matty blinks, hard, like she’s stunned. Her eyes are watering, a little. Also from the cold. Probably from the cold?

She’s got her arms crossed, hugging herself to avoid the wind. Mitch wants to give her his jacket or something, except for how he slightly hates her, currently.

“I’m not,” she says, so quiet Mitch can hardly even hear her. “I’m not embarrassed about you.”

“I don’t believe you,” Mitch says, and there’s another second of them just staring at each other, and Mitch’s heart fucking _hurts_ , but he turns and he leaves and, know what, he keeps his fucking jacket to himself.

\---

The problem is that Mitch is like, really bad at being sad. It’s just very much not his thing, and neither is being angry, really, so he gets back to his place and sits down on the couch ready to call Matty so they can play Fortnite, only- nope, can’t do that, so he makes a face at no one in particular and takes out his phone so he can see if Matty wants to come over, only, no, he can’t do that either.

He’s so _mad_ at her.

He leaves his clothes on the floor and doesn’t bother with pyjamas, just crawls into bed in his boxers and curls up under the covers. He’s just going to sleep and feel better tomorrow and forget this whole night, because fuck tonight. He tugs the covers over his head.

Thing is-

He feels like he was a jerk, which is annoying, because he knows he wasn’t. It doesn’t make sense that he feels guilty about being embarrassed about Matty being embarrassed, what does that even- he doesn’t even know how to make that sentence make sense in his head.

Mitch rolls over and groans into his pillow. Does not scream, because he’s a fucking good neighbour, thank you very much, even if he’s apparently too humiliating to be publicly acknowledged as a boyfriend.

He wonders if it’s ‘cause he’s clingy. He knows he’s clingy. People usually like it. He thought Matty liked it.

Tonight is taking forever. Mitch sits up, picks up his phone to check the time.

It’s been a minute since he got in bed. Literally, one minute.  

He tosses and turns for _ages_. He didn’t drink enough tonight to pass out quickly, and even getting up and doing fifty push-ups doesn’t make him tired enough to sleep.

He beats three levels of Candy Crush, leaves chirping comments on every single picture on his brother’s Insta. He even resorts to scrolling through Twitter to distract himself, which is exactly as terrible of an idea as it sounds. Every other thing is Matthews and Marner, a bunch of people using hashtag-Marnthews, and Mitch must be like, a glutton for punishment tonight, because he clicks it and it takes him to the top tweets and the first thing to pop up on screen is the original tweet with the gif that went viral, the kiss from last year’s playoffs. It’s got more than twenty thousand likes, thousands more replies.

Mitch stares at the little clip of them looping again and again, the smile on his face as he crashes into Matts, airborne, and she kisses him and they’re both so, so happy. Mitch can imagine it like he’s there, the noise of the crowd thrumming through his bones, Matty holding onto him like they were the only two people in the world.

It feels like it was yesterday, and like it was a million years ago. He doesn’t remember what it was like to be the version of him that hadn’t kissed Auston Matthews, and even as he thinks that, it’s like- the Mitch in the gif had no fucking clue, because he went home and went about his summer and only had to overthink one little peck, but now Mitch knows how it is to kiss her, to really kiss her, and to like her and be liked by her and have none of it even matter, anyways.

He clicks the replies, the stuff he’s not tagged in, and scrolls through them for the first time.

He nearly drops his phone.

It’s bad. It’s really, really bad. Mitch kind of- he knew people are dicks online, ‘cause he’s made the mistake of checking his notifications after losses before, but this is something different, a million different versions of people calling Matty a slut, saying stuff like _shocker_ and _who could have predicted that a girl would ruin the locker room /sarcasm_ and so, so much stuff about her mom and the Mexican thing and Mitch imagines Mrs. Matthews’ face, reading that stuff about her and her kid, and he has to scroll past because it makes him want to throw up.

It hits him, then, that none of the stuff is about him. He has to scroll for ages to find anything that is, ‘cause it’s got way less likes than the Matty-themed replies, and even when Mitch starts seeing it, it’s not the same. A bunch of dudes, like, congratulating him on getting with Matty, making jokes about how it was only a matter of time. Someone photoshopped him into a picture of Matty when she was way younger, all long hair and baby fat and a literal child, and the replies to _that_ are just- they don’t _stop_.

Mitch has dealt with a lot, from hockey, but never with that.

He closes Twitter with clumsy fingers, shaken without being able to fully put a finger on why, and he just wants to go to bed and forget all of this, but-

His home screen is a picture of Matty.

It’s the kind of thing she’d kill him for showing anyone else. He remembers taking the picture this one afternoon at Freddie’s, fooling around taking selfies while Fred was downstairs paying the pizza guy. It’s objectively kind of a dumb picture, because Matty’s halfway through saying something, and she’s posing really goofy, doing that girl thing of holding her hair over her lip like it’s a moustache, even though it’s hardly long enough to reach. Her eyes are bright, holding all the smile that’s not showing on her face, and she’s looking beyond the camera, right at Mitch, all soft.

Mitch can probably count on one hand the number of people that get to see that side of Auston. The side that’s aggressively not cool, and doesn’t do her bored media monotone, and Mitch gets it, sitting here tonight, because if hockey guys are giving her shit for that stuff, he can’t imagine what they’d say if they saw her being all cute, all Matts instead of Auston Matthews.

He shuts off his phone. He’s holding onto it so tight his knuckles are white.

He never knew all the stuff people said to her. Never would’ve even guessed. ‘specially not that it’d be so different from the stuff they say to him.

If he sits up straight, Mitch can see his reflection the mirror hanging over his dresser. Just his head and his shoulders, and they’re broader than they used to be, he looks older than he used to look, even from all the way back here. More like a man than a boy, probably. Whatever that even means.

Mitch has no fucking clue. Story of his life, maybe.

He looks away from the mirror and down at his phone. Unlocks it again, just to see the picture of Auston’s face.

He wants his best friend back. That part, Mitch knows.

It’s like. Something.

\---

They get the ice to themselves for a while, after everything, and Mitch is sore after practice, but he sauces the puck in Matty’s direction.

She sends it back to him, puts it right on his tape, and Mitch handles it between his skates a couple times. He can feel Matts watching him, can feel the air heavy around them. They haven’t not spoken this long ever, not as long as they’ve known each other. Since they were _seventeen_.

“Bet you can’t get the puck from me,” Mitch says, and Matty looks surprised and there’s a moment when Mitch thinks he guessed wrong and things are just going to stay terrible forever, but Matty’s the most competitive human on the planet, so she skates over and Mitch barely has time to brace himself before he’s getting fucking bodied.

They’re coming off four games in a week and a pretty strenuous practice, but they go hard. It’s fast hockey, pure instinct, neither of them holding back the way they usually do outside of a game – Mitch gets the puck and loses it ten times a second, and he checks Matty into the boards and she spins out, checks him back and comes up with the puck, only Mitch battles for it and they’re wheeling around the net, still shoving up against each other. He can see Matty’s eyes narrowed, razor-sharp focus, and there’s not a lot of people better at hockey than Mitch but she’s one of them, so the next time he gets the puck on his stick for a split second, he lifts it right over the glass and out.

“Hey-” Matty shoves at him one last time, but Mitch drops his stick and slumps down against the boards, trying to catch his breath, and when he looks up again Matty’s got her hands clasped over the top of her stick, and she’s leaning on it, her hair falling in her face all messy.

Mitch watches her shoulders heave as she breathes just as hard as him. He can’t tell if all the padding makes her look bigger or smaller under it all.

She looks up and meets Mitch’s gaze.

“Come sit,” he requests, and there’s a split second’s hesitation, but Matty does, comes and sits down against the boards, right next to Mitch so they’re pressed together even though they’re both all sweaty.

They sit there, side by side, and for a while, it’s quiet. The ice is cold on Mitch’s ass, even through all his padding. Metal clanks, somewhere else in the arena. Not near them.

“I shouldn’t have let people get to me,” Mitch says. “I- you’re right, I don’t know how it is to be a girl in the league, or half not-white, or whatever. I didn’t realize how different the stuff they say about us is.” He looks at Auston, tries to show he’s being sincere, because he is. “It was shitty of me to bug you just ‘cause people think it’s weird that you’re taller or-”

“I’m like, in love with you,” Matts blurts, loud, and that in itself is a bombshell and a half, but she’s not done. “I know I was being a dick about the bi thing, I’m just fucking scared of how much I like you, and how much I want you to like, be my boyfriend, and also sometimes I get off thinking about your forearms because I like how your tattoo and your muscles look, and I didn’t say it the other night but I’ve basically had a crush on you since we met.”

Mitch blinks.

He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Matty say that many words at once before. Sure as hell hasn’t heard her say that many nice things about him at once.

“Oh,” is what Mitch says back, because words are kind of a big ask right now, and also he’s a dumbass.

“Yeah,” Auston says, and she’s _blushing_ , and neither of them talks more, and the whole rink is just completely silent, except for Mitch’s heart hammering against his ribs.

Mitch looks down at his forearms. He doesn’t think they’re particularly impressive, especially covered in his sleeves; especially compared to like, any other guy in the league. He can’t imagine Matty liking them that much, except for how she apparently does.

Since they met, she said.

“Actually?” he asks, because this is him they’re talking about.

Matty nods.

Mitch sits up a little straighter. He doesn’t do it on purpose, just can’t help it, because it’s like-

She loves him?

She loves _him_?

“Like... a crush love?” he confirms. “Like you think I’m hot?”

“That’s what I said literally a second ago, yeah,” Matty says, all tense. Not a ton of heat behind it. More nervous than anything else. “We’ve literally been- like, you have to know I think you’re hot.”

And, like. _Now_ he does, sure.

Mitch shakes off his glove and leaves it on the ice next to him; reaches up really slow and moves a chunk of hair out of Matty’s face and tucks it behind her ear. It’s probably kind of a move, but he’s not trying to be smooth about it, and he thinks Matty can tell because she reaches up and holds onto the band around his wrist, the not-a-friendship bracelet that’s definitely a friendship bracelet that he never really takes off.

Mitch stares down at Matty’s thumb on the leather, her fingernail all uneven where she must’ve bitten it. It’s probably weird to be fond of a thumb, but he’s fond of Auston’s everything, pretty much. Thumb included. Auston’s fond of _his_ everything. Thumbs probably included? Forearms definitely included.

She loves him.

Mitch feels so, so good. He’s the fucking _man_.

“My forearms, huh?” he says, low. Almost romantic, except for how he’s chirping the shit out of her. “That’s super embarrassing, for you.”

“You’re super embarrassing,” Matty shoots back real fast, and she’s bright red, lobster-style. “I hate you so much.”

“You don’t, though,” Mitch shakes his head, and he can feel his smile getting really big. Isn’t even embarrassed about it. Matty’s liked him since they met. He could jump the fucking CN Tower. “You want to be my _girlfriend_.”

“I mean, obviously, yeah,” Auston says, and she manages to be real dignified about it, even all sweaty and with her hair a mess and her whole face all blushy, so Mitch squeezes her hand.

“I want to be your boyfriend too,” he says, and it’s like he can feel Matty relaxing, and then she’s beaming and Mitch can’t help but lean in and kiss her on the cheek, maybe a little bit on the corner of her mouth. Just a press of lips, and he can’t even stop smiling when he does it.

Matty bursts out laughing.

“What was that?” she demands, laughing all incredulous, and she’s the most beautiful thing Mitch has ever seen, even when she’s roasting him at a moment like this. “What the actual fuck was that grandma kiss-”

“I was being a gentleman,” Mitch says, affronted. “Romantic as _fuck_. You’re welcome. You are welcome, Matthews.”

“That’s dumb,” Matty informs him, meeting his eyes, and Mitch knows they’re going to be okay. “You’re dumb, boyfriend.”

“ _You’re_ dumb, girlfriend,” Mitch retorts, and he’d come up with a better comeback, duh, but Matty kisses him right on the mouth, and that right there is the only reason he doesn’t get to win this argument, honest to god.

He’ll take the L, just this once.


End file.
